c:c«t^^.. 


University  of  California  •  Berkeley 


15793 


JAMES  E.  McGiRT 


For  Your  Sweet  Sake 


POEMS 


By 
JAMES  E.  McGIRT 


PHILADELPHIA: 
THE  JOHN  C.  WINSTON  COMPANY 

1909 


Copyright  1909  by 
JAMES  E.  McGIRT 


Copyright  1906  by 
JAMES  E.  McGIRT 


CONTENTS. 


Page. 

Born  Like  the  Pines 5 

A  Mystery 6 

The  Spirit  of  the  Oak 7 

"Homesick" 8 

Des  Fo'  Day 10 

My  Soul's  at  Rest 1 1 

Inspiration 12 

The  Century's  Prayer 14 

Anna,  Won't  You  Marry  Me? 15 

Spring 16 

A  Warrior's  Judgment 17 

Uncle  Is'rel 19 

If  Loving  Were  Wooing 21 

Winter 22 

The  Siege  of  Manila 23 

Signs  o'  Rain 26 

No  Use  in  Signs 27 

Lullaby,  Go  To  Sleep 29 

God  Bless  Our  Country    30 

True  Love 31 

Weep  Not 32 

Memory  of  W.  W.  Brown 33 

When  De  Sun  Shines  Hot 34 

Experience 35 

Success 6 


FOR  YOUR  SWEET  SAKE 


Page. 

Defeated 37 

I  Shall  Succeed 37 

The  Rosy  Dawn 38 

A  Song  of  Love 39 

Thanksgiving  Prayer 40 

Love 41 

Right  Will  Win 42 

Victoria,  the  Queen 42 

Life  and  Love 43 

A  Slothful  Youth 44 

A  Quest 44 

Signs  of  Death 45 

A  Sailor's  Departure 47 

A  Test  of  Love 48 

A  Balm  for  Weary  Minds 57 

Tell  Me,  Deep  Ocean 58 

Should  I  Spy  Love 59 

If  Love  Could  See 59 

Temptation 60 

Some  One  Some  Where 61 

When  the  Leaves  Begin  to  Fall 62 

Keep  Er  Inchin' 63 

Deep  in  Love 64 

A  Magic  Change 65 

Lookin'  On 65 

Kindred  Voices 66 

Deserted 67 

Little  Baby  Sugar  Sweet 68 


For  Your  Sweet   Sake 


BORN  LIKE  THE  PINES. 


Born  like  the  pines  to  sing, 
The  harp  and  song  in  ma'  breast, 

Though  far  and  near, 

There's  none  to  hear, 

I'll  sing  as  th'  winds  request. 

To  tell  the  trend  of  ma'  lay, 

Is  not  for  th3  harp  or  me; 
I'm  only  to  know, 
From  the  winds  that  blow, 

What  th'  theme  of  ma'  song  shall  be. 

Born  like  the  pines  to  sing, 

The  harp  and  th'  song  in  ma'  breast, 
As  th'  winds  sweep  by, 
I'll  laugh  or  cry, 

In  th'  winds  I  cannot  rest. 

(5) 


FOR  YOUR  SWEET  SAKE 


A  MYSTERY. 

I  do  not  know  the  ocean's  song, 

Or  what  the  brooklets  say; 
At  eve  I  sit  and  listen  long, 

I  cannot  learn  their  lay. 
But  as  I  linger  by  the  sea, 

And  that  sweet  song  comes  unto  me 
It  seems,  my  love,  it  sings  of  thee. 

I  do  not  know  why  poppies  grow, 

Amid  the  wheat  and  rye, 
The  lilies  bloom  as  white  as  snow, 

I  cannot  tell  you  why. 
But  all  the  flowers  of  the  spring, 

The  bees  that  hum,  the  birds  that  sing, 
A  thought  of  you  they  seem  to  bring. 

I  cannot  tell  why  radiant  Mars, 
Moves  through  the  heav'ns  at  night; 

I  cannot  tell  you  why  the  stars, 
Adorn  the  vault  with  light. 

But  what  sublimity  I  see, 

Upon  the  mount,  the  hill,  the  lea, 

It  brings,  my  love,  a  thought  of  thee. 


FOR  YOUR  SWEET  SAKE 


I  do  not  know  what  in  your  eyes, 
Hath  caused  my  heart  to  glow, 

And  why  my  spirit  longs  and  cries, 
I  vow,  I  do  not  know. 

But  when  you  first  came  in  my  sight, 
My  slumbering  soul  awoke  in  light, 

And  since  that  day  I've  known  no  night. 


THE  SPIRIT  OF  THE  OAK. 

The  spirit  of  the  oak  am  I, 
With  head  uplifted  to  the  sky, 
Though  hail  and  storm  beat  in  my  face, 
Through  weal  or  woe  I  hold  my  place, 
With  head  uplifted  to  the  sky, 
The  spirit  of  the  oak  am  I. 

Birds  I  have  sheltered  many  a  year, 
They  hear  the  storm,  desert  in  fear, 
The  strenuous  eagle  strives  to  stay, 
But,  ah !  at  last  his  heart  gives  way, 
He  stretches  forth  his  feathered  form, 
And  sails  to  heaven  above  the  storm. 

Devoid  of  every  earthly  friend, 
I  stand  undaunted  till  the  end, 
With  head  uplifted  to  the  sky — 
The  spirit  of  the  oak  am  I. 


FOR  YOUR  SWEET  SAKE 


And  when  the  raging  storm  is  o'er, 
My  feathered  friends  return  once  more, 
And  find  me  standing  calm  and  free; 
They  chirp  aloud  and  sing  with  glee, 
With  outstretched  arm  I  bid  them  rest, 
I  hold  no  malice  in  my  breast, 
But  welcome  every  passer-by — 
The  spirit  of  the  oak  am  I. 


"HOMESICK." 

Sittin*  by  de  windo', 
Gazin'  at  de  snow, 
Up  here  in  de  Norf  land, 
No  friends  dat  I  know. 

Sick  o'  ways  o'  city, 
Tired  o'  rip  an*  tare, 
Peaceful,  happy  Georgia,- 
Lord,  if  I  was  dare! 

No  one  here  to  talk  to, 
'Bout  de  joys  I's  seen, 
Speak  o'  possum  huntin'- 
Don'  no  what  yo'  mean. 


FOR  YOUR  SWEET  SAKE 


Banjo  lyin'  idle, 
Not  allow'd  to  play, 
People  in  de  nex'  room, 
"  Too  much  noise,"  dey  say. 

Write  horn'  fo'  a  ticket? 
Dat  would  be  no  use, 
Sent  me  one  las'  summer, 
Sol'  it  like  a  goose. 

Way  too  long  fo'  walkin', 
Snow  a  fallin',  too, 
Lord  a  mercy  on  me, 
What  am  I  to  do? 

Com'  heah  little  banjo, 
Lie  close  to  my  ear, 
I'll  jes  pic'  yo'  easy, 
So  dem  fools  can'  hear. 

What  you  say  dere,  postman? 
Letter  here  fo'  me  ? 
No,  I  jes  can'  b'leve  it, 
Han'  me;  let  me  see. 

Yes,  dis  is  her  writin', 
Ticket,  too,  hab  com* 
Com'  on  little  banjo, 
Com',  I'm  goin'  hgm'. 


io  FOR  YOUR  SWEET  SAKE 


DES  FO'  DAY. 

When  fo'  yeahs  yo've  been  er  tryin* 
'N'  de  thing  fo'  whut  yer  tries, 
Ez  yo'  reach  yer  han'  ter  tek  it, 
Des  mov's  off  bufore  yer  eyes, 
'N'  yer  thro*  er  side  yer  shovel, 
Like  yer  ain't  goin'  wuk  no  mo', 
'N'  yer  wonder  whur's  ole  Gabr'l, 
What's  de  re' son  he  don't  bio'; 
Den  yer  wan'  ter  wuk  de  harder, 
Fo'  Ise  allus  he'rd  um  say, 

De  darkes'  hour, 

Des  fo'  day. 

Co'rse  its  hard  ter  keep  on  runnin', 
When  de  stake  keeps  movin'  'way, 
'N'  ter  hav'  er  mind  fo'  wukin', 
When  yer  think  der  ain't  no  pay, 
But  puhaps  when  clouds  er  blackes', 
'N'  der  woiT  seems  at  its  wu's, 
Dat  it  all  corn's  on  er  pu'pus, 
Maby  it  fo'  warnin'  us— 
Den  yer  wan'  ter  wuk  de  harder, 
Fo'  Ise  allus  he'rd  um  say, 

De  darkes'  hour, 

Des  fo'  day. 


FOR  YOUR  SWEET  SAKE  11 


MY  SOUL'S  AT  REST. 

J's  'bout  dahk  I  com'  horn'  ploddin', 
Tired  and  ro'sted  from  de  sun. 
Tho'  I  wo'k  f  om  mo'nin'  early, 
Seems  ma'  tas'  ez  never  don' ; 
Th'n  its  wh'n  I  sit  er  scowlin', 
Dinah  smoothes  ma'  brow  'n'  sa', 
"Ephr'm  yo's  bro't  nothin'  wit'  yo', 
Chil',  yo  can't  t'ke  nothin'  wa';" 
An'  she  re'ch's  me  ma'  banjo, 
An'  I  lay  it  cross  ma'  bres', 
Fo'  my  trouble's  all  forgotten 
An'  my  soul's  at  res'. 

Soon  de  spring  com'  on  a  smilin' 
I  'gin  frettin'  'bout  de  grain, 
Fo'  my  little  gyarden's  parchin' 
An'  my  crop  ez  needin'  rain; 
Th'n  its  wh'n  I  sit  a  scowlin', 
Dinah  smoothes  ma'  brow  'n'  sa', 
"Ephr'm  yo's  bro't  nothin'  wit'  yo', 
Chil',  yo'  can't  t'ke  nothin'  wa';" 
An'  she  re'ch's  me  ma'  banjo, 
An'  I  lay  it  cross  ma'  bres', 
Fo'  my  trouble's  all  forgotten, 
An'  my  soul's  at  res'. 


12  FOR  YOUR  SWEET  SAKE 


Som'  dese  days  't'll  all  be  over, 
I  will  la'  me  down  an'  sleep, 
Dinah,  honey,  don't  yo'  worry, 
Tell  de  people  not  to  weep. 
Th'n  its  w'en  I  lay  a  sleepin', 
Smooth  my  bro'  as  oY  an'  sa', 
"  Ephr'm,  honey,  I  will  meet  yo', 
'Roun'  de  throne  o'  God  som'  da';" 
T'ke  my  banjo  f  om  de  ceilin', 
La'  it  sof  ly  'cross  ma'  bres', 
Fo'  my  troubles  will  be  over, 
An*  my  soul  at  res'. 


INSPIRATION. 

Of  en  w'en  de  race  I'm  running 
Chil'  my  feet  gits  blistered  so* 
Dat  I  hav'  a  notion  fallin' 
'Pears  I  jus'  can'  run  no  mo'; 
Th'n  I  'gin  to  think  o'  Lizah, 
Wit'  a  smil'  upon  her  face 
Stan'in'  at  de  gate  er  waitin', 
Jus*  to  see  me  win  de  race, 
An'  I  start  out  wit'  new  courage, 
Fo'  to  win  de  race  or  die. 
Well  I  feel  jus'  like  a  feather, 
Man,  I  fairly  fly. 


FOR  YOUR  SWEET  SAKE  13 

Dere  are  times  w'en  courage  leav'  me, 
Tho'  I  thro'  my  burden  down, 
Somethin'  sa's  deres  no  use  tryin', 
Seems  I  jus'  don'  wan'  no  crown; 
Th'n  I  'gin  to  think  o'  Lizah, 
An'  I  wondah  wh't  she'd  say, 
Ef  she'd  come  along  an'  fin'  me, 
In  de  gutter  by  de  way. 
An'  I  gather  up  my  burden, 
An'  I  start  wit'  all  my  might, 
Fo'  my  limbs  at  once  grow  stronger, 
An*  my  load  gits  light. 

Clouds  may  gath'r  dark  ez  midnight, 
Matters  not  de  cos'  o'  Fate, 
All  I  wan'  to  kno'  ez  Lizah, 
Waitin'  fo'  me  at  de  gate; 
Tho'ns  and  thistles  lose  dey  terro', 
Hill  an'  mountains  melt  er  way; 
Tho'  de  worl'  seem  dark  an'  drary, 
At  de  tho't,  'twill  turn  to  day. 
Fo'  w'en  I  think  o'  Anner  Lizah, 
All  de  worl'  gits  clear  an'  bright. 
An'  my  limbs  dey  grow  much  stronger, 
An'  my  load  gits  light. 


14  FOR  YOUR  SWEET  SAKE 


THE  CENTURY'S  PRAYER. 

Lord  God  of  Hosts  incline  thine  ear, 
To  this  Thy  humble  servant's  prayer; 
May  war  and  strife  and  discord  cease, 
This  Century,  Lord  God,  give  us  peace. 
The  thoughts  of  strife,  the  curse  of  war, 
Henceforth,  dear  Lord,  may  we  abhor, 
One  blessing  more,  our  store  increase, 
This  is  our  prayer,  Lord,  give  us  peace. 

May  those  who  rule  us,  rule  with  love, 
As  Thou  dost  rule  the  Courts  above; 
May  man  to  man  as  brothers  feel, 
Lay  down  their  arms  and  quit  the  field; 
Change  from  our  brows  the  angry  looks, 
Turn  swords  and  spears  to  pruning  hooks, 
One  blessing  more  our  store  increase, 
This  is  our  prayer,  Lord,  give  us  peace. 

May  flags  of  war  fore'er  be  furled, 
The  milk-white  flag  wave  o'er  the  world; 
Let  not  a  slave  be  heard  to  cry, 
"The  lion  and  lamb  together  lie;" 
May  nations  meet  in  one  accord, 
Around  one  peaceful  festive  board. 
One  blessing  more,  our  store -increase, 
This  is  our  prayer,  Lord,  give  us  peace. 


FOR  YOUR  SWEET  SAKE  15 


ANNA,  WONT  YOU  MARRY  ME? 

Anna,  child,  the  spring  has  come, 

Listen  to  the  robins,  dear; 

The  honeysuckles  are  in  bloom, 

The  fragrance  fills  the  air. 

A  dove  is  cooing  soft  and  low, 

Telling  how  he  loves  his  mate; 

For  you  the  flowers  seem  to  grow, 

For  you  they  seem  to  bloom  and  wait. 

Two  by  two  the  sparrows  build, 

High  up  in  the  orchard  tree — 

Anna,  Anna,  Anna,  won't  you  marry  me? 

Anna,  O!  ho!  ho! 

The  aching  of  my  heart ; 

It  seems,  my  love,  I'm  bound  to  go, 

If  we  have  to  live  apart. 

My  heart  says  "Anna"  all  the  time, 

Love,  I'll  die  for  thee — 

Anna,  Anna,  Anna,  won't  you  marry  me? 

'Member,  love,  the  vow  you  made, 

When  out  in  the  orchard,  dear; 

The  stars  can  witness  what  you  said, 

The  moon  was  sailing  clear. 

You  promised,  love,  that  you'd  be  mine, 


1 6  FOR  YOUR  SWEET  SAKE 


Promised  in  the  early  spring. 

And  now  the  bees  are  'round  the  vine, 

Everywhere  the  song-birds  sing, 

In  every  flower  I  see  your  name, 

Everywhere  it  seems  to  say, 

"Anna,  Anna,  this  is  our  wedding  day/' 

Anna,  O!  ho!  ho! 

The  aching  of  my  heart; 

It  seems,  my  love,  I'm  bound  to  go, 

If  we  have  to  live  apart; 

My  heart  says  "Anna"  all  the  time — 

Love,  I'll  die  for  thee— 

Anna,  Anna,  Anna,  won't  you  marry  me? 


SPRING. 

I  rise  up  in  de  mornin' 
Early  in  de  spring, 
And  hear  de  bees  a  hummin' 
An'  hear  de  robins  sing; 
Th're  com'  o'er  me  a  feelin* 
So  queer  I  know  not  why. 
I  jus'  sit  down  an'  listen, 
It  seem  I  'most  could  cry; 
The  win'  has  lost  its  bitin', 
Aroun'  de  vine  de  bees, 


FOR  YOUR  SWEET  SAKE  17 

The  air  is  full  o'  fragrance 
From  blossoms  of  the  trees. 
I  stroll  out  in  de  garden, 
An*  take  a  look  about, 
I  see  de  groun'  a  crackin', 
The  seed  has  'gun  to  sprout. 
Beneath  de  vine  a  blos'oiri', 
All  dried  an'  curie'  it  lies, 
A  striped  little  melon, 
Is  hangin'  'fore  my  eyes. 
Its  den  I  'gin  a  hum'in' 
An'  j'in  the  birds  and  sing, 
My  heart  is  full  o'  raptur', 
An'  grandeur  o'  the  spring. 


A  WARRIOR'S  JUDGMENT. 

A  warrior  stood  before  his  Master, 
Bruised  and  bleeding  from  the  fight, 

Not  for  power,  neither  honor, 
But  in  battling  for  the  right. 

Torn  and  tattered  was  his  body, 
Gashed  and  wounded  was  his  face, 

Stood  he  waiting  for  the  Master 
To  assign  his  resting  place. 


18  FOR  YOUR  SWEET  SAKE 


The  Master  gazed  on  him  in  pity, 
Saw  the  form  which  He  had  made, 

Once  like  His,  now  so  distorted; 
Gazed  into  his  face  and  said: 

"Tell  me,  son,  is  this  the  body 
That  I  gave  you  for  a  while — 

Gave  to  you  so  pure  and  holy, 
You  return  it  so  defiled?" 

"  Master/'  said  the  trembling  soldier, 
"In  yonder  world  where  I  have  been, 

Daily  I've  encountered  battle 
With  the  daring  monster,  Sin. 

"Each  step  I  fought  my  journey  through 
He  strove  to  keep  me  from  the  goal ; 

Though  he  scored  me  yet  I  conquered; 
Master,  he's  not  scarred  the  soul." 

The  Master  saw  the  soul  still  shining, 
Thought  of  His  own  hand  and  side, 

Beckoned  to  the  brightest  heaven 
That  the  gate  be  opened  wide. 

Then  the  Master  cried,  "Immortal!" 
The  soul  came  flashing  from  his  breast, 

Pointing  to  the  fairest  heaven, 
"Enter  thou  in  peaceful  rest!" 


FOR  YOUR  SWEET  SAKE  19 

UNCLE  IS'REL. 

De  peopl'  call  me  a  conger, 

Jus'  caus'  I  do  som'  tricks, 

An*  caus'  I  got  dis  lucky  black  cat  bone, 

Can  gather  roots  to  make  tea  wit', 

Not  'les'  dey  talk  'o  th't, 

Dey's  scared  o'  me  an'  say  I  tote  load  stone. 

Don'  kear  whut  I  do  noble, 

No  matter  how  I  work, 

Dey  say  de  load  stone  don'  it  jus'  de  same. 

Like  when  I  took  Lucindy 

'Way  from  Perfessor  Jones, 

Dey  up  an'  said  I  got  huh  wit'  some  skeame. 

Let  somethin'  happen  to  de  neighbors, 

Let  one  o'  th'm  git  sick, 

Fo'  it  old  Is'rel  got  to  bear  de  blame, 

Jes'  caus'  I  got  dis  goofer, 

An*  a  rabbit  foot  or  two; 

Dey  say  !  do  mos'  ever' thing  dey  dream. 

Som'tim'  dey  talk  so  scand'lo's, 

It  gits  me  all  up-sot, 

Wh'n  worrin'  over  whut  dey  say, 

I  wan'  'o  tek  my  goofer, 

As'  ever' thing  I  got, 

An'  let  de  people  see  me  thro'  'm  'way, 


20  FOR  YOUR  SWEET  SAKE 


I'll  gath'r  dem  together, 

An'  put  'em  in  a  pile, 

I  'gin  to  think  about  de  needy  day, 

I  think  whut  they'd  do  fo'  me; 

An'  git  mad  wit'  myself, 

Fo'  worrin'  over  whut  de  people  say. 

Fo'  when  I  'gin  a  thinkin', 

'Bout  whut  migh'  com'  o'  me, 

Can'  help  the  tears  from  comin'  in  my  eye, 

One  tim'  de  worl'  was  'gains'  me, 

An'  frien's  had  turn'  their  backs, 

My  rabbit  foot  an'  goofer  stood  righ'  by. 

Yo'  call  me  whut  yo'  wan'  to, 

An*  jus'  don'  bother  me, 

I'm  goin'  'o  keep  the  things  thet  bro't  me  thro'; 

Yo'  talk  o'  mother's  teachin', 

But  whut  they  don'  fo'  me, 

Is  much  as  any  mother'd  ever  do. 

I  use'  to  mark  de  pathway 

Thet  run  'fore  marster's  door, 

An'  ev'ry  mornin'  he  would  hav'  to  cross 

The  load  stone  in  my  pocket, 

I  don'  jus'  lik'  I  pleas'; 

Mos'  every  body  tho't  I  was  de  boss. 

When  marster'd  cross  de  mark, 
Yo'  see  him  'menc'  to  smile, 


FOR  YOUR  SWEET  SAKE  21 


To  git*wit'  me  it  always  made  him  proud; 

I  made  de  women  lov'  me, 

An'  long  as  I  was  thar, 

Nobody  ever  hurt  one  o'  de  crowd 

When  I  go  out  a  courtin', 

I  goofer  up  my  hands, 

An'  put  a  rabbit  down  into  my  sho', 

No  man  on  earth  can  beat  me, 

A  winnin'  o'  de  lov' ; 

Fo'  when  I  meet  de  girls  dat's  whut  I  do. 

Make  out  I'm  glad  to  see  them, 

An'  grab'm  by  de  han', 

Be  rubbin'  load  stone  on  'em  all  de  tim' ; 

No  use  in  tryin'  to  shun  me, 

I'm  goin'  to  win  yo'r  love, 

Fo'  ef  I  want  you,  I  can  make  yo'  min'. 


IF  LOVING  WERE  WOOING. 

If  wishing  were  getting, 

Ah !  wouldn't  it  be  fine? 
If  loving  were  wooing, 

Alice,  thou  would'st  be  mine; 
Neither  wealth  nor  honor, 

Nor  gem  from  the  sea, 
Can  cause  such  a  yearning 

As  I  have  for  thee. 


22  FOR  YOUR  SWEET  SAKE 


What  need  of  a  ruby 

When  your  cheeks  I  see? 
Those  gems  'neath  your  lashes 

Are  diamonds  to  me; 
Your  forehead's  a  sapphire, 

Beaming  'neath  a  curl; 
Your  lips  seem  a  rosebud, 

Hiding  two  rows  of  pearl. 


WINTER. 

Oh !  the  winter's  coming, 
Leaves  are  getting  brown, 

Hickory  nuts  and  acorns 
Falling  to  the  ground. 

Pumpkins  getting  yellow, 
Persimmons  getting  ripe, 

O'possum  'gin  to  fatten 
And  quails  begin  to  pipe. 

Bird  dog  in  the  broom  sage, 
Hunter's  got  his  gun. 

Erastus  with  old  Traylor — 
O'possum'd  better  run. 

Turkeys  in  the  corn-crib, 
Chickens  got  their  sway; 

Let'm  be,  they're  fattening, 
For  Thanksgiving  Day. 


FOR  YOUR  SWEET  SAKE  23 


THE  SIEGE  OF  MANILA. 

Just  a  few  miles  from  Manila  Bay, 

Near  the  close  of  a  summer's  day, 

When  the  sun  was  flooding  with  gold  the  west, 

Our  fleet  was  ordered  to  stop  and  rest. 

After  the  regular  meal  was  served, 

And  the  code  of  evening  was  observed, 

Each  retired  to  his  usual  place, 

And  gazed  into  the  dome  of  space. 

With  awe  they  watched  the  steady  blaze, 

As  down  on  us  they  seemed  to  gaze. 

I  never  shall  forget  the  night, 

The  silvery  stars  were  shining  bright, 

A  full-orbed  moon  hung  in  the  west, 

As  if  to  see  the  great  contest. 

The  wind  was  just  a  peaceful  gale; 

It  was  a  pleasant  night  to  sail. 

The  ocean  waves  were  rolling  'long, 

And  pealing  forth  a  mournful  song; 

Soon  from  the  sea  a  mist  arose, 

That  caused  the  starry  book  to  close. 

When  sable  night  had  reigned  her  last, 

The  rosy  morn  was  coming  fast. 

Within  the  glimmer  of  the  day, 

We  sailed  to  take  Manila  Bay. 

Soon  the  fort  loomed  up  in  sight, 


24  FOR  YOUR  SWEET  SAKE 


From  out  the  windows  gleamed  a  light. 

Then  when  we  saw  the  deadly  gun, 

Bright,  glistening  in  the  rising  sun, 

It  seemed  that  fire  came  in  our  blood. 

Like  tigers  by  our  guns  we  stood, 

It  seemed  our  souls  would  burst  with  ire, 

While  waiting  the  command  to  fire. 

In  perfect  silence,  not  a  breath, 

An  instant  could  have  brought  us  death. 

The  mist  that  from  the  ocean  rose, 

Had  hid  us  from  our  Spanish  foes. 

And  when  the  enemy  sent  no  sound, 

A  whisper  'mong  us  passed  around. 

"Fortune's  with  us,"  our  captain  cried, 

"We've  entered  in  and  are  not  spied." 

By  the  fort  we  'gan  to  start, 

A  distance  though  we  sailed  a  part. 

One  by  one  our  ships  stole  by, 

As  wolves  before  a  shepherd's  eye. 

All  of  our  fleet  had  safely  passed, 

Except  McCullough,  which  fortune  blessed, 

Within  its  furnace  'cured  a  rick, 

And  sparks  went  flying  from  its  stack. 

The  sparks  that  from  the  ship  did  fly, 

Met  all  at  once  the  fort  men's  eye. 

Through  glasses  they  began  to  peep, 

Their  glasses  raised  the  cause  to  greet. 

To  their  surprise  they  spied  our  fleet. 

A  cry  of  terror,  a  dash,  a  run, 

The  shells  came  blazing  from  each  gun. 


FOR  YOUR  SWEET  SAKE  25 

Before  an  instant  hardly  passed, 

Around  us  shells  were  falling  fast, 

Their  mines  in  vain  they  did  explode, 

But  we  were  safe  in  our  abode. 

Our  captain  gave  command  to  fire, 

Which  seemed  to  be  our  soul's  desire. 

Before  the  words  he  could  repeat, 

The  shells  went  blazing  from  our  fleet, 

Our  hearts  were  burned  with  hatred  dire, 

We  filled  the  air  with  shell  and  fire. 

While  the  battle  was  raging  high, 

And  glowing  shells  were  falling  nigh, 

Dewey  back  through  memory  gazed, 

Saw  the  Maine,  became  enraged. 

And  with  his  dazzling  sword  in  hand, 

He  whirled  it  high  and  gave  command, 

With  fury  blazing  from  his  eye, 

With  thundering  voice  was  heard  to  cry, 

"Remember  the  Maine !  Speed!  Haste! 

Be  careful,  boys,  no  shells  to  waste. " 

Remembered  we,  our  blood  did  run, 

And  sent  shells  flying  from  our  gun. 

Our  boats,  like  fierce  Vesuvius  seemed, 

From  out  our  guns  shells  poured  and  screamed. 

Directed  by  an  immortal  eye, 

For  not  a  strayward  shell  did  fly. 

But  each  of  the  shells  from  the  guns  that  went, 

Performed  the  mission  on  which  'twas  sent. 

Our  captain  took  his  glass  in  hand, 

And  o'er  the  battle  quickly  scanned. 


26  FOR  YOUR  SWEET  SAKE 


"Stop  the  guns/'  he  quickly  cried, 
"Fortune  now  is  on  our  side; 
The  Spanish  fleet  is  in  a  blaze, 
And  sinking  fast  before  my  gaze. " 
When  this  command  to  us  was  given, 
Three  hearty  cheers  went  up  to  heaven, 
And  when  the  sun  sent  down  her  sheen, 
Not  a  Spanish  boat  was  to  be  seen. 
The  valiant  fleet  of  tyrant  Spain, 
Beneath  the  mighty  deep  was  slain. 


SIGNS  O'  RAIN. 

Whin  yoah  corns  an'  bunions  achin', 
An*  yoah  body's  full  o'  pain, 
Yo'  can  res'  right  shure  an'  sertin', 
Dat  we's  goin'  'o  hav'  som'  rain. 

Cours'  de  achin'  is  not  plesen' 
Tho'  I  wish  it  I  mus'  'fess, 
But  not  'caus'  I  lov'  de  hurtin', 
But  I  kno'  I'll  get  som'  rest. 

In  de  winter  I  go  huntin', 

Wh'n  de  groun'  is  white  wi'h  snow. 

In  de  summer  I  go  fishin', 

Wh'n  de  groun 's  too  wet  to  plow. 


FOR  YOUR  SWEET  SAKE  27 


Do  yo'  hear  de  dogs  a  barkin', 
Lik'  dey's  struck  a  raccoon  trail? 
Sho'  sine  o'  fallin'  weather, 
Chile,  I's  neber  seen  it  fail. 

Run  out,  Jacob,  look  back  Southward, 
See  if  trier's  a  cloud  in  sight, 
Goshie,  whut  a  clap  o'  thunder, 
Clouds  're  hangin'  black  as  night. 

Jacob  heard  de  rain  a  fallin', 
Fitter  patter  on  de  roof, 
Fold  his  arms  and  looked  at  Hannah, 
Now  yo'  see  I's  tol'  de  truth. 

Daddy  in  de  chimney  corner, — 
"Jake,  I  hear  you  wishin'  rain," 
"Yes  sur,  dad,  de  garden  parchin' 
Don't  yo'  think  'twill  help  de  grain?" 


NO  USE  IN  SIGNS. 

Der's  no  use  behT  scared  o'  cungers, 
An'  lettin'  black  cats  turn  you  back, 
You  jus'  go  on  about  your  business, 
An'  let  de  cungers  hav'  your  track. 


28  FOR  YOUR  SWEET  SAKE 


Fo'  Friday  aint  no  wus'  dan  Monday, 
As  far  as  luck  to  you's  concerned, 
You  ban'  may  itch,  don't  spit  into  it, 
You  won't  git  nothin'  but  what  you  earn. 

Your  nose  may  itch,  no  one  is  comin', 
Your  foot  may  itch,  you'll  go  nowhere, 
An'  you  can  let  de  worms  crawl  o'er  you, 
An'  den  no  new  dress  get  to  wear. 

'N'  caus'  you  have  a  little  learnin', 
You  need  not  try  to  figure  rich, 
Jus*  go  an'  get  a  spade  or  shovel, 
An'  go  runnin'  to  de  ditch. 

And  when  you  feel  a  little  happy, 
Don't  think  of  all  de  grief  you've  had. 
An'  'caus'  your  eyes  is  trimblin'  little, 
Dat  ain't  no  sign  you  goin'  git  mad. 

An'  if  de  toe  next  to  de  big  one, 
Is  kinder  long — you  ain't  goin'  'o  rule, 
Because  my  hair  grows  on  my  forehead, 
You  need  not  take  me  for  a  fool. 

I'm  goin'  to  sing  soon  in  de  mornin', 
De  hawks  may  catch  me  before  night, 
But  if  dey  do  you  need  not  worry, 
Jus'  say:  "I  bet  they  had  to  fight." 


FOR  YOUR  SWEET  SAKE  29 


LULLABY,  GO  TO  SLEEP. 

I'll  ne'er  forget  the  day, 

When  I  was  young  and  gay, 

A  rolling  'round  the  floor  in  Tennessee; 

From  th'  cotton  field  so  white, 

My  ma  would  come  at  night, 

And  fondly  hold  me  in  her  arms  and  say; 

"Go  to  sleep,  baby  mine, 

Little  birdie  in  your  nest; 
Humming  bees  have  left  the  vine, 

Go  to  sleep  and  take  your  rest." 

In  winter  cold  and  chill, 

At  night,  when  all  was  still, 

I'd  wake  to  find  her  standing  over  me, 

A  smile  upon  her  face, 

A  creeping  'round  the  place, 

She'd  tuck  the  cover  over  me,  and  sing: 

"Go  to  sleep,  baby  mine, 

Little  birdie  in  your  nest; 
Humming  bees  have  left  the  vine, 

Go  to  sleep  and  take  your  rest." 


30  FOR  YOUR  SWEET  SAKE 


So  many  years  have  passed, 

Since  we  assembled  last, 

That  dear  old  soul  has  gone  away  to  dwell. 

If  this  whole  world  was  mine, 

The  wealth  I  would  decline, 

If  I  could  only  hear  my  mother  sing: 

"Go  to  sleep,  baby  mine, 

Little  birdie  in  your  nest; 
Humming  bees  have  left  the  vine, 

Go  to  sleep  and  take  your  rest." 


GOD  BLESS  OUR  COUNTRY, 

God  bless  our  home,  land  of  the  free, 
And  those  who  rule,  who  e'er  they  be; 
Protect  the  flag,  and  let  it  wave 
Over  all  free  men,  but  not  the  slave. 
May  we,  dear  Lord,  sustain  its  name; 
Forbid  that  it  shall  trail  in  shame. 
To  those  who  from  oppression  flee, 
May  this  our  land,  a  refuge  be. 

May  we  sustain  all  we  profess : 
Forbid  that  we  should  man  oppress; 
May  we  accept  fraternal  love 
And  live  as  we  must  live  above. 


FOR  YOUR  SWEET  SAKE  31 


TRUE  LOVE. 

How  true,  dear,  my  love  is; 

Too  great  to  compare, 
Truer  than  the  stars, 

That  shoot  from  their  sphere; 
Think  how  the  sun  sets 

And  withdraws  its  light; 
Think  how  I  love  thee 

Alone  in  the  night. 
Think  of  its  rising, 

How  it  varies  in  time; 
Oh !  there  is  no  varying 

In  this  heart  of  mine. 
True  as  a  rock,  then — 

How  could  I  this  say 
When  softest  of  waters 

Can  wear  stone  away? 
Even  time  must  change 

To  eternity. 
Oh !  there  is  no  changing 

In  my  love  for  thee. 
True  as  eternity! 

No,  it's  not  begun; 
All  must  start  even 

When  a  race  is  to  run. 
When  old  eternity 

Becomes  mossy  and  gray, 


32  FOR  YOUR  SWEET  SAKE 

Then,  dear,  I'll  love  thee 

The  same  as  to-day. 
Fear  not  that  pale  death 

Will  drift  us  apart; 
Ah!  death  cannot  sever 

The  love  in  my  heart. 
When  we  reach  heaven 

We  shall  find  our  own; 
I'm  told  we  will  know  there 

As  we  are  known. 


WEEP  NOT. 

Weep  not,  friend,  o'er  your  condition, 

He  who  tries  can  find  a  way; 
Labor,  and  to  God  petition, 

Strive,  and  you  will  rise  some  day. 

Let  your  steps  be  sure  and  steady, 

Push  ahead  and  never  stop; 
Though  the  field  seems  filled  already, 

There  is  room  still  at  the  top. 

If  you  wish  to  climb  life's  ladder, 
Start  to  climb  it  from  the  ground; 

If  great  your  strength,  it  makes  it  sadder 
To  have  to  climb  it  round  by  round. 


FOR  YOUR  SWEET  SAKE  33 


MEMORY  OF  W.  W.  BROWN. 

Dear  Father  Brown,  the  great,  the  good, 
The  noble  leader  of  our  race; 
With  task  complete,  his  spirit  fled 
To  heaven,  its  final  resting  place, 
And  there  in  peace  it  shall  remain, 
Securely  wrapped  from  care  and  pain ; 
His  body  'neath  sweet  roses  sleeps, 
An  angel  o'er  him  vigil  keeps. 

Weeping  for  one  so  dearly  loved, 
Too  soon  it  seems  we  had  to  part; 
To  see  him  hid  beneath  the  clay, 
Sharp  sorrow  fills  the  aching  heart, 
It  seems  I  see  him  on  the  stand, 
Fain  1  could  hear  him  give  command; 
And  with  his  outstretched,  loving  arm, 
Imploring  people  to  reform. 

Think  of  the  great  work  he  has  done, 
Behold  the  great  reformer's  hand; 
Ten  thousand  marching  to  and  fro, 
To  seek,  to  help,  to  lend  a  hand, 
Thy  life  has  not  been  spent  in  vain, 
Thy  deeds  are  monuments  of  fame ; 
Thy  name  from  earth  will  ne'er  depart, 
Tis  graved  with  kindness  on  the  heart. 


34  FOR  YOUR  SWEET  SAKE 


No  more  to  meet  us  here  on  earth, 
The  noble  impulse  thou  hast  given; 
Will  urge  us  on  the  mighty  course, 
Until  we,  too,  are  called  to  heaven. 
Beneath  the  clods,  is  it  the  last? 
Oh,  no,  the  memory  of  the  past; 
As  Bethlehem's  star  the  wise  men  led, 
His  light  will  lead  us  though  he's  dead. 


WHEN  DE  SUN  SHINES  HOT. 

No,  dere  ain't  no  use  er  workin'  in  de  blazin' 

summertime, 
Whin  de  fruit  hab  filled  de  orchard,  an '  de  berries 

bend  de  vine; 
Der's  enuf  ter  keep  us  libin '  in  de  little  gyarden 

spot, 
An'  der  ain't  no  use'n  workin'  w'en  de  sun  shines 

hot. 

Fur  I'ze  read  it  in  de  Bible  'bout  de  lilies  how  dey 

grow, 
It  was  put  in  dere  er  purpus  dat  de  workin'  men 

mout  know, 
Dat  dis  diggin'  an  er  grabben,  wusn't  meant  in 

our  lot, 
An*  der  ain't  no  use'n  workin'  we'n  de  sun  shfnes 

hot. 


FOR  YOUR  SWEET  SAKE  35 

Does  yer  hear  de  streams  er  callin '  az  it  crawls 
erlong  de  rill; 

Does  yer  se  de  vines  er  wavin',  biddin'  me  ter 

kum  an'  fill? 
Whar's  ma'  hook  and  line — say,  Hannah,  give 

me  all  de  bait  yer  got, 
Fur  der  ain't  no  use'n  workin'  w'en  de  sun  shines 

hot. 


Des  'bout  dark  I  kum  hum,  strollin'  wid  a  bunch 

er  lubly  trout; 
Hannah  she  c'mmence  er  grinnin'   'little  Rastus 

'gin  to  shout; 
Soon  de  hoe  cake  is  er  bakin',  fish  er  fryin',  table 

sot. 
No,  der  ain't  no  use'n  workin'  w'en  de  sun  shines 

hot. 


EXPERIENCE. 

They  told  me  that  the  path  I  took  was  hard, 

That  many  a  time  my  weary  feet  would  bleed; 
They  said  at  last  I'd  find  my  way  was  barred* 
I  would  not  heed. 


36  FOR  YOUR  SWEET  SAKE 

They  bade  me  stop  and  go  the  other  way; 
This  path,  they  said,  Fate  thorns  and  thistles 

strew ; 

But  I  was  young,  Ambition  led  the  way; 
1  thought  I  knew. 

But  when  my  bleeding  feet  came  to  the  end, 

And  I  was  bound  and  scourged  by  cruel  Fate; 
Alas,  I  cried,  pray  let  me  start  again ; 
It  was  too  late. 


SUCCESS. 

Success  is  a  light  upon  the  farther  shore, 
That  shines  in  dazzling  splendor  to  the  eye, 

The  waters  leap,  the  surging  billows  roar, 
And  he  who  seeks  the  prize  must  leap  and  try. 

A  mighty  host  stand  trembling  on  the  brink, 
With  anxious  eyes  they  yearn  to  reach  the  goal. 

I  see  them  leap,  and,  ah !  I  see  them  sink — 
As  gazing  on,  dread  horror  fills  my  soul ! 

Yet  to  despair  I  can  but  droop  and  die, 
Tis  better  far  to  try  the  lashing  deep. 

I  much  prefer  beneath  the  surge  to  lie, 
Than  death  to  find  me  on  this  bank  asleep. 


FOR  YOUR  SWEET  SAKE  37 


DEFEATED. 

Vain  and  defeated  each  effort  of  life, 
Feeble  and  hoary,  sick  of  the  strife, 
But  yet  in  my  bosom  a  spirit  says,  "rise," 
A  voice  calling  onward  out  of  the  skies. 

Though  wounded  in  battle,  left  by  the  way, 
I  hear  the  voice  calling,  and  strive  to  obey. 
And  make  my  last  effort  the  battle  to  gain; 
Ah !  death  is  upon  me,  I  struggle  in  vain. 


I  SHALL  SUCCEED. 

I  shall  succeed,  although  Fate  rules  to-day, 
And  heaps  up  thorns  and  thistles  in  my  way, 
I  bear  the  yoke  and  tread  them  with  a  smile, 
For  I  am  sure  it  is  but  for  a  while. 

Each  day  that  dawns,  I  strive  to  break  the  chain, 
Although  to-day  it  seems  so  massive  strong; 
Although  it  seems  my  labors  are  in  vain, 
I'll  strive  and  wait,  it  matters  not  how  long 


38  FOR  YOUR  SWEET  SAKE 


For  like  the  drip  that  falls  upon  the  millstone, 
So  soft  it  strikes,  at  first  it  seems  but  play; 
But  drop  on  drop  a  tiny  dent  will  come — 
We  turn  at  length  and  find  it  washed  away. 

Thus  will  I  beat  Fate's  chains,  though  strokes  be 

feeble, 

To  hasty  men  it  all  may  seem  but  play. 
The  hand  of  man,  though  soft  as  drops,  is  able 
To  wear  at  length  the  hardest  stone  away. 


THE  ROSY  DAWN. 

From  out  the  rosy  dawn  the  sun  comes  forth; 
See,  love,  what  robes  of  splendor  deck  the  sea! 
So  is  my  soul  hallowed  with  joy  and  love, 
Gleaming  for  thee. 

For,  when  at  morn  I  stroll  along  the  path, 
There  I  behold  thy  beauty  from  afar; 
And,  like  the  rosy  dawn,  it  fills  my  soul; 
I  stand  in  awe. 

Look,  love,  the  rosy  scene  is  in  the  West ! 
And  soon  this  world  shall  be  in  solemn  night. 
So  will  my  soul  if  thou  shouldst,  like  the  sun, 
Withdraw  your  light. 


FOR  YOUR  SWEET  SAKE  39 


A  SONG  OF  LOVE. 

A  song  I  sing  a  blessing  so  divine, 
Which  all  can  feel  yet  no  one  can  define; 
It  comes  like  hallowed  glory  from  above, 
We  feel  the  joy  and  call  the  blessing  love. 

Just  as  we  know  when  zephyr's  in  the  rye, 

We  cannot  see,  still  how  we  mark  its  way; 
Just  so  it  is  when  love  meets  you  and  me — 

We  bend  and  sway. 
For  who  can  hide  the  love  that's  in  his  breast? 

He  only  feels,  though  known  by  all  the  rest; 
For  when   love  comes   the  gall   is   changed   to 

sweet,— 
It  brought  the  valiant  Hector  to  its  feet. 

Just  as  love  brought  the  heroes  kneeling  down, 

She  leads  the  world  quite  gently  with  her  sway, 
No  need  of  lash — just  simply  smile  or  frown — 
We  will  obey. 

Yes,  love  can  lead  her  victim  just  at  will; 
Greater  the  pain,  greater  he  loves  her  still; 
Through  thorns  and  thistles  till  his  feet  are  sore, 
She  bids  him  stop;  he  cries  to  follow  more. 


40  FOR  YOUR  SWEET  SAKE 


Just  as  a  bird  must  know  the  limb's  secure 
Before  she  comes  to  build  on  it  her  nest, 
So  love  will  nestle  when  she  finds  us  true, 
Deep  in  our  breast. 

Just  as  we  bruise  a  pear  to  make  it  sweet, 
So  love  will  bruise  her  victim  with  her  feet; 
It  shoves  the  baby  eagle  from  its  nest; 
Before  it  falls,  her  wings  go  'neath  its  breast. 


THANKSGIVING  PRAYER. 

Lord  God,  I  turn  on  this  Thanksgiving  Day, 
To  view  the  path  o'er  which  I've  made  my  way, 
Although  a  path  of  thorns  my  eye  may  greet, 
Although  I  feel  the  sting  still  in  my  feet; 
Although  the  harvest  fails  my  barn  to  fill, 
With  grateful  heart  I  bow  and  thank  Thee  still. 

For  I  am  sure  what  e'er  has  been  my  lot, 
How  meek,  how  poor,  is  more  than  I  deserve. 
Unto  Thy  will  I  bow  and  murmur  not. 

I'll  not  condemn  His  justice — whom  I  serve. 
I'll  not  complain  and  call  Thee,  Father,  stern. 
Because  Thy  sacred  plans  I've  failed  to  learn; 


FOR  YOUR  SWEET  SAKE  41 


The  cause  of  all  this  grief  I  cannot  tell. 
And  yet,  like  Job  of  old,  I'll  not  rebel. 
Lord  God,  I  turn  on  this  Thanksgiving  Day, 
To  view  the  path  o'er  which  I  made  my  way. 
Although  a  path  of  thorns  my  eye  may  greet, 
Although  I  feel  the  sting  still  in  my  feet, 
Although  the  harvest  fails  my  barn  to  fill, 
With  grateful  heart  I  bow  and  thank  Thee  still. 


LOVE. 

So  oft  I've  read  what  poets  sang  of  love, 

To  feel  their  joy  for  years  in  vain  I  sought ; 
At  last  love  came,  a  cooing  little  dove; 
The  joy  it  brought ! 

And  since  the  day  when  I  first  sipped  the  wine, 

I've  felt  a  song  I  would  all  men  could  hear; 
Though  vainly  I  have  sought  for  word  and  rhyme 
To  make  it  clear. 


To  teach  this  song,  love  only  has  the  power; 

To  mortal  man  the  door  is  sealed,  though  near. 
Some  day  the  door  will  open,  you'll  discover 
Love's  song  and  hear. 


42  FOR  YOUR  SWEET  SAKE 


RIGHT  WILL  WIN. 

Think  not,  my  friend,  if  right  be  crushed  to-day, 

That  violent  wrong  will  ever  hold  the  day; 

A  noble  cause  aside  the  kings  may  toast, 

If  it  be  right,  Oh!  no,  'tis  never  lost. 

Know  ye,  the  stone  the  builders  first  refused, 

Was  left  alone,  but  at  the  top  was  used? 

God  stopped  and  called  the  leper  from  the  cross; 

He  can  not  use  the  haughty  and  the  proud; 

From  out  the  stagnant  pool  He  makes  to  grow 

The  fragrant  water  lilies,  white  as  snow. 


VICTORIA,  THE  QUEEN. 

Oh,  victorious  Queen,  it's  through  thy  loyal  grace 
I  bring  this  wreath — a  token  from  my  race; 
True,  thou  art  gone,  no  more  on  earth  to  meet; 
I  come  to  spread  these  lilies  at  thy  feet. 
'Of  all  the  wreaths  brought  from  the  floral  shrine, 
This  wreath  alone  portrays  the  life  of  thine. 
These  many  years  thou  wert  before  our  sight, 
So  calm  and  kind,  so  pure,  serenely  bright, 


FOR  YOUR  SWEET  SAKE  43 

Like  glowing  sunlight,  seated  on  thy  throne, 
Giving  us  rays,  withholding  them  from  none. 
One  soul,  one  God,  has  been  thy  sacred  theme; 
The  high,  the  low — their  cries  were  heard  the 

same. 

Rest  on,  grand  soul,  in  perfect  peace  above, 
For  thou  wert  love,  and  love  must  rest  with  love ; 
Even  though  we  weep,  though  sorrow  fills  our 

breast, 

We  do  not  wish  to  call  thee  from  thy  rest, 
A  star,  though  quenched,  thy  light  is  shining  still; 
Thy  voice,  though  hushed,  thy  subjects  know  thy 

will. 


LIFE  AND  LOVE. 

Life  is  a  boundless  sea,  on  which  men  float; 
Succeed  we  may  to  ride  the  waves  of  Fate, 
Yet  still  within  our  paths  there  surely  lies, 
The  chasm  death,  the  voidless  ultimate. 

Love  is  a  sacred  shrine,  to  which  men  kneel, 
Succeed  we  may,  the  blessing  to  attain, 
Yet  rest  assured  the  hallowed  joy  it  brings, 
E'en  though  sublime,  somehow  is  tinged  with 
pain. 


44  FOR  YOUR  SWEET  SAKE 


A  SLOTHFUL  YOUTH. 

Beside  the  road  in  youth  I  sat  in  slumber, 
The  passers  hailed  and  told  me  it  was  day; 

"But,  ah!"  said  I,  "my  days  are  great  in  num- 
ber." 
And  soundly  slept,  regardless  of  their  say. 

Now,  here  I  sit;  the  night  has  come  upon  me; 

I  fain  would  go,  but  darkness  hides  my  way. 
I'd  turn  to  God  that  He  would  look  upon  me; 

I've  now  forgot  the  prayer  I  used  to  pray. 

Yet,  while  I  sit  and  vainly  wait,  the  morning, 
I  yearn  to  tell,  but  ah !  it  is  too  late. 

That  he  who  sleeps  at  day  and  fails  the  warning, 
Shall  wake  at  night,  the  dreadful  ultimate. 


A  QUEST. 

Tell  me,  my  soul,  tell  me,  I  pine  to  know, 
Some  future  day,  known  as  the  harvest  time! 
Am  I  to  reap  from  all  the  grain  I  sow, 
My  ill-wrought  deed  am  I  to  claim  as  mine? 


FOR  YOUR  SWEET  SAKE  45 

If  I  should  hurl  my  javelin  in  the  dark, 

And  spread  out  thorns  and  thistles  'long  the  way, 

Will  it  return  and  find  me  as  its  mark? 

Am  I  to  tread  the  thorns  some  future  day? 

O  Lord,   I  pray  that  Thou  wouldst  guide  my 

hand; 

Let  not  an  evil  seed  by  me  be  sown, 
Or  cause  to  sprout  within  a  brother's  land 
What  I  should  hate  to  see  within  my  own. 


SIGNS  OF  DEATH. 

When  you  hear  at  night  de  cows  a  lowin', 
An'  dogs  a  howlin'  out  der  mournful  soun', 
I  tell  you  now  you  better  get  you  ready, 
Dey's  goin'  to  plant  som'body  in  de  groun'. 

You  need  not  b'lieve  in  signs,  not  less  you  wan' 

to. 

But  some  of  dese  morn'  you'll  wake  up  in  su'prize, 
An'  if  dem  dogs  com'  howlin'  where  I'm  sleepin', 
I  tell  you  now  dis  darkey's  goin'  'o  rise. 

If  der's  any  doubts  o'  bein'  ready, 
Down  on  my  knees  a  prayer  I'll  make, 
You  can  laugh  an'  say  dat  darkey's  skeery, 
I'm  like  a  rabbit,  can'  trus'  no  mistake. 


46  FOR  YOUR  SWEET  SAKE 


It  may  not  be  fo'  me  de  dog's  a  howlin', 
But  when  dey  howl  my  path  I'm  goin'  'o  sweep, 
An'  I  ain't  goin'  to  bed  no  mo'  dat  evenin', 
Fo'  death  will  never  com'  an'  fin'  me  sleep. 

Der're  lots  o'   learned  people  talkin'  bully, 
An'  sayin'  der's  nothin'  in  de  signs; 
But  if  dey  com'  a'  roun'  me  with  dere  learnin' 
I'm  jus'  er  goin'  'o  tell  'em  dey 're  lyin'. 

I'se  got  no  time  to  listen  to  dere  learnin', 
Fo'  dey  is  jus'  a  tryin'  to  show  off  smart, 
Der  ain't  nobody,  don't  care  how  dey's  learned, 
Dat's  got  de  signs  all  wiped  out  o'  dere  heart. 

Fo'  learnin'  never  takes  from  man  his  habits, 
It  only  smears  dem  over  wid  a  stain, 
An'  caus'  you're  learned,  you  is  not  an  angel, 
Dem  same  old  traits  er  lurkin'  still  within. 


I  kno'  I'm  learned  as  high  as  anybody, 
Yit  whin  a  chicken  coop  I'm  passin'  by, 
Dere  com'  to  me  again  dem  same  old  feelin's, 
I'm  goin'  'o  hav'  dat  chicken  'cep'  he  fly. 


FOR  YOUR  SWEET  SAKE  47 


A  SAILOR'S  DEPARTURE. 

My  dearest  child,  I  have  no  wealth  to  give  you, 

No  ring  of  gold  to  leave  thee  as  we  part, 
Going,  yet  why  should  going  grieve  you? 
You  have  my  heart. 

In  calm,  in  storm,  no  matter  how  the  weather, 
My  one  great  thought  shall  ever  be  of  thee; 
Tell  me,  I  pray  thee,  tell  me  whether 
You'll  think  of  me? 

Without  your  love  I  wish  my  burden  lighter; 
With  head  bowed  low  I  plod  life's  weary  way, 
But  with  your  love,  each  day  is  brighter, 
To  toil  is  play. 

The  ship  has  come,  I  must  no  longer  tarry; 

The  lamp  of  love  for  you  will  ever  burn; 
Farewell,  pray  let  your  soul  be  merry, 
Soon  I'll  return. 

When  I  return,  what  e'er  may  be  my  treasure — 
That  happy  day,  I  pray  God  that  we  meet — 
My  life,  my  all,  I  11  cast  with  pleasure 
Down  at  your  feet. 


48  FOR  YOUR  SWEET  SAKE 


He   said   "Good-bye" — the   tears  were  swiftly 

falling— 

The  ship  moved  off,  she,  left  alone  to  dwell ; 
The  signal  sounded  as  they  parted, 
Their  last  farewell ! 


A  TEST  OF  LOVE. 

The  land  of  Avia,  lovely  is  the  scene, 
Clothed  every  evening  in  a  silvery  sheen; 
The  rippling  brook  and  birds  make  music  clear, 
Wild  flowers  bloom  in  plenty  all  the  year, 
And  mistletoe's   the  largest   tree   that's   found, 
Its  roots  embedded  firmly  in  the  ground. 
In  vales  of  mistle,  'long  the  Aztec  shore, 
Stand  board-roofed  huts,  numbering  but  a  score; 
The  largest  one  is  Haggar's— well  in  years; 
No  happier  man  in  all  the  place  appears. 
His  daughter,  Alice,  simple,  pure  and  good, 
And  loved  by  all  in  that  fair  neighborhood. 
Of  all  the  youths  that  came  to  woo  her  love 
No  voice  but  Ed's  could  cause  her  heart  to  move. 
Ed  Lassiters,  son  of  a  magistrate, 
Was  loved  by  all,  and  no  one  could  he  hate; 
In  peace  and  love  he  served  the  village  long, 
And  no  one  e'er  complained  he'd  done  them 

wrong ; 
And  Ed,  his  son,  a  steady,  sober  youth, 


FOR  YOUR  SWEET  SAKE  49 

Was  famed  throughout  the  village  for  his  truth. 
Alice  loved  Ed;  when  children  it  was  seen 
That  Ed  loved  her  and  held  her  as  his  queen. 
Together  they  were  always  seen  at  play. 
What  e'er  she  willed  it  pleased  Ed  to  obey; 
"My  doll,  a  house,"  was  all  she  had  to  speak, 
For  sticks  and  bark  at  once  Ed  went  to  seek; 
To  bake  mud  cakes  more  water  she'd  demand; 
Ed  quickly  brought  and  placed  it  at  her  hand. 
In  all  their  play  they  were  not  seen  to  pout; 
Always  in  love  there  was  no  falling  out. 
Each  day  to  school  they  hand  in  hand  would  go, 
Her  books  and  slate  Ed  carried  to  and  fro; 
Each  Sunday  morn,  the  chapel  bell  would  chime, 
And  Ed  with  Alice  marched  away  on  time; 
To  church  at  night  Alice  alone  he'd  bring, 
And  from  one  book  both  in  the  choir  would  sing. 
The  childish  love  that  bound  them  when  at  play 
To  greater  love  soon  yielded  up  its  sway. 
Were  children  once,  but  ah,  no  children  now; 
Ed  was  a  farmer,  master  of  the  plow; 
Alice,  a  maid,  how  skilful  at  the  loom, 
And  all  affairs  pertaining  to  the  home; 
Once  close  they  lived,  but  now  three  miles  apart; 
But  miles  cannot  divide  true  heart  from  heart. 
The  village  lads  loved  well  the  maiden  dear, 
But  knew  their  love  and  would  not  interfere; 
So  hand  in  hand  through  life  they  always  went, 
So  lovingly,  so  happy,  so  content. 
But,  ah,  if  he  had  known  the  pain  to  come, 

4 


50  FOR  YOUR  SWEET  SAKE 


He  would  have  had  her  safely  in  his  home. 

To  Avia  came  a  family  seeking  health; 

A  noble  family;  great,  too,  was  their  wealth; 

A  man  and  wife,  a  son,  the  darling  joy; 

John,  was  his  name,  and  handsome  was  the  boy. 

He  saw  the  maid,  and  love  came  at  the  sight; 

To  win  her  love  he  sought  with  all  his  might. 

Soon  she  loved  John  and  soon  he  loved  the  maid, 

So  swift  is  love  when  gold  can  give  it  aid. 

And  since  that  day  the  youth  came  from  the 
north 

Ed's  cloak  of  love  had  keenly  felt  a  moth. 

Soon  on  his  face,  there  dwelt  a  heavy  frown; 

Each  day  he  passed,  his  head  was  hanging  down. 

And  all  the  village  wondered  as  he  passed 

What  made  the  change,  what  made  him  so  down- 
cast. 

Each  Sunday  morn  he  strolled  alone  to  church ; 

We  sympathized — we  knew  it  grieved  him  much ; 

As  when  the  ivy  from  the  oak  we  tear, 

It  seemeth  lonely,  ah!  it  seemeth  bare. 

So  'twas  with  Ed  when  they  were  seen  apart, 

He  seemed  e'er  sad,  so  withered  was  his  heart. 

He  loved  her  still,  and  each  time  he  would  call 

He  plead  in  vain  that  she  would  love  him  all. 

Each  night  Ed  called,  each  night  both  lovers  met; 

They'd  try  in  vain  each  other  to  outset. 

When  on  her  face  Ed  read  her  heart's  desire 

He'd    ask   his   hat,    reluctantly   retire. 

Poor  Ed,  in  youth  he  saw  her  any  time, 


FOR  YOUR  SWEET  SAKE  51 


Now  once  a  week  his  visits  were  confined. 
Each  youth  desired  the  maid  to  be  his  bride; 
She  loved  them  both,  and  how  could  she  decide? 
Three  months  had  passed — the  choice  she  had  not 

made; 

With  bashful  face  she  sought  her  mother's  aid. 
She  hinted  out  the  burden  of  her  heart; 
Her  loving  mother  knew  the  other  part. 
"Oh,  Ed  and  John,"  she  said,  with  trembling 

voice, 

"I  love  them  both  and  cannot  make  a  choice; 
Three  months  in  vain  the  choice  I've  tried  to 

make; 

It's  left  with  you,  mother,  which  one  to  take." 
The  mother  thought  awhile  and  slowly  said: 
"  I  cannot  choose  the  man  for  you  to  wed, 
For  much  is  in  the  saying  of  the  bard: 
'Make  your  own  bed  and  keep  it  if  it's  hard'; 
So  make  your  choice;  if  he's  not  what  he  seems 
On  no  one  else  can  you  well  place  the  blame. 
Since  I'm  your  ma,  advice  'tis  mine  to  give: 
With  whom  you  choose  through  life  pray  try  to 

live, 

For  they  who  wed  and  quit  without  a  cause 
Have  broken  o'er  our  Holy  Father's  laws. 
Unless  you  can  for  him  lay  down  your  life 
Never,  my  child,  consent  to  be  his  wife, 
For  married  life  is  greater  than  a  dream, 
And  all  have  found  it  greater  than  it  seemed. 
To  know  the  one  whose  love  is  pure  and  best, 


52  FOR  YOUR  SWEET  SAKE 


I  think  it  right  to  bring  him  to  a  test. 

How  can  you  judge  from  the  word  the  greater 

love? 

Does  rain  tell  all  that  it  has  seen  above? 
What  steed  an  empty  wagon  cannot  pull? 
Ah,  place  him  to  a  wagon  that  is  full. 
The  many  words!  but,  ah,  the  simple  few, 
Can  have  a  great  effect  if  spoken  true. 
The  sweetest  words  make  not  the  greatest  youth, 
Ah,  he  is  great  who  sayest  but  the  truth. 
The  world  to-day  is  so  enrapt  with  sin, 
That  it  is  right  with  women  and  with  men, 
Before  they  be  exalted  in  our  sight, 
We  must  have  great  assurance  they  are  right. 
So  Ed  and  John  seem  good,  1  love  them  well; 
The  one  for  you  to  choose  I  cannot  tell. 
The  way  to  find  the  one  to  suit  you  best, 
Put  life  at  stake  and  give  them  both  a  test, 
For  he  who  takes  a  maiden  for  his  wife 
Should  count  it  joy  to  give  for  her  his  life. " 
She  knew  that  neither  Ed  nor  John  could  swim ; 
To  try  the  deep  would  be  a  test  for  them. 
She  thought  how  each  of  them  enjoyed  to  row. 
She  said:  "Some  day,  while  rowing,  drop  your 

oar, 

And  tell  him  bring  the  oar  you'll  be  his  bride; 
First  let  the  oar  beneath  the  boat  be  tied; 
Engage  them  now,  go  quick  and  tie  the  oar." 
One  came  at  three,  the  other  came  at  four. 
I  feign  would  tell  them  what  the  mother  said; 


FOR  YOUR  SWEET  SAKE  53 


So  great  the  plot  when  by  a  woman  made. 
She  set  the  time,  and  John  and  Ed  complied; 
The  evening  came  and  John  was  by  her  side. 
With  John  she  goes,  as  though  she  loved  him 

best, 

Out  in  the  boat  that  she  his  love  might  test. 
From  youth  she  knew  the  art  to  dive  and  swim; 
Twas  all  a  secret,  'twas  not  known  to  him. 
They  reached  the  deep  where  angry  billows  roar; 
She  for  a  purpose  dropped  her  only  oar. 
Out  from  the  boat  the  oar  the  waves  did  toss; 
The  maid  screamed  out  in  anguish,  "We  are 

lost!" 

The  oar  was  fairly  whirling  by  a  wave; 
The  frightened  maid  knelt  praying  God  to  save. 
The  coward  youth  sat  trembling  pale  as  death; 
His  face  had  changed,  it  seemed  he  had  no  breath. 
The  maid  knelt  still,  pretending  loud  to  weep. 
But  through  her  fingers  at  the  youth  she'd  peep. 
She  saw  the  youth  still  fainting  in  dismay; 
She  would  have  laughed,  but  thought  she  would 

betray. 

She  raised  her  head,  the  oar  again  she  spied; 
Beneath  the  boat  the  oar  with  cord  was  tied. 
She  really  cried,  for  lo!  her  face  was  red, 
"John,  bring  the  oar,  I'll  be  your  wife,"  she 

said. 

But  John  sat  still,  for  he  could  not  obey; 
"I  cannot  swim,"  was  all  she  heard  him  say. 
She  bade  him  think,  she  bade  him  count  the  cost; 


54  FOR  YOUR  SWEET  SAKE 

"Without  the  oar  won't  both  our  lives  be  lost? 
If  you  sit  here  is  death  not  sure?"  she  said. 
John  knew  it  was,  and  cowardly  dropped  his 

head. 

With  trembling  voice  she  cried,  imploring  still, 
"Go,  bring  the  oar;  if  you  won't,  John,  I  will. 
What  will  you  do?"  She  paused  to  give  him 

time. 

He  would  not  go;  she  leaped  into  the  brine; 
She  sank  and  rose,  and  loudly  came  a  sound: 
"Pray  come  and  help!  quick!  love,  for  soon  I 

drown!" 

John  saw  his  love  the  third  time  disappear; 
She  cried  in  vain,  for  John  refused  to  stir. 
Again  she  rose  and  quickly  seized  the  oar, 
Toward  the  boat  the  oar  she  swiftly  bore. 
Soon  in  the  boat,  dripping,  she  took  her  seat, 
As  John  sat  cowardly  gazing  at  her  feet ; 
Then  to  the  shore  she  quickly  made  her  way; 
She  reached  the  shore,  to  him  was  heard  to  say: 
"The  oar  wasn't  lost;  by  this  thread  it  was  tied; 
My  life  to  you  I'm  thinking  to  confide." 
And  this  she  said:  "I  did  it  just  to  prove 
Whether  or  not,  you're  worthy  of  my  love." 
She  told  him  all,  and  said:  "John,  can't  you  see 
That  you  are  false  and  do  not  care  for  me. " 
And  John  stood  crying,  begging  not  to  tell; 
She  vowed  she'd  not,  and  said  to  him  farewell. 
He  went  his  way  and  she  sat  on  the  beach — 
I'll  tell  you  why  before  the  end  is  reached — 


FOR  YOUR  SWEET  SAKE  55 


Twas  nearly  four,  and  Ed,  her  other  beau, 
Had  promised  then  to  meet  ber  for  a  row. 
The  hour  had  come,  the  village  clock  was  heard; 
Ah!  Ed  was  there;  he  always  kept  his  word. 
Up  from  the  beach  she  rose,  her  friend  to  greet; 
She  had  not  heard  the  tramping  of  his  feet. 
Soon  in  the  boat  they  both  sat  face  to  face ; 
She  took  the  oar  as  though  out  for  a  race; 
Then  with  the  oar  she  gave  the  sea  a  sweep, 
And  soon  the  boat  was  sailing  on  the  deep; 
"Here  comes  a  ship;  look,  Ed,  I  see  the  top." 
He  turned  his  head,  the  oar  she  did  let  drop. 
"Dear  Ed/'  she  cried,  "pray  take  me  to  my 

home; 

I  dropped  the  oar  and  death  is  sure  our  doom. " 
He  gazed  at  her  and  saw  her  faint  away. 
"Don't  cry,  my  dear,"  she  softly  heard  him  say; 
He  raised  her  head,  consoling  words  he  speaks, 
Brushed  back  her  hair  and  kissed  her  rosy  cheeks; 
Pretended  she  unconscious  of  a  kiss ; 
Yet  still  her  soul  was  thrilled  with  holy  bliss. 
He  raised  her  quickly  in  a  fond  embrace, 
And  gently  wiped  her  tear-stained,  blushing  face. 
The  tears  upon  her  rosy  cheek  repose 
Appeared  like  sparkling  dewdrops  on  a  rose. 
As  men  in  hurrying  pressed  for  want  of  time, 
Can  find  a  moment  still  to  sip  the  wine, 
So  hurried  Ed,  for  fear  the  oar  he'd  miss, 
Yet  still  found  time,  yea,  thrice,  her  lips  to  kiss; 
Just  as  a  man  is  moved  by  sparkling  drinks 


56  FOR  YOUR  SWEET  SAKE 


Performs  an  act  before  of  danger  thinks. 
The  kiss  affected  Ed  as  strongest  wine; 
He  could  not  swim,  yet  did  not  fear  the  brine; 
He  did  not  stop  for  once  to  count  the  cost, 
Nor  thought  he  once  that  either  would  be  lost. 
He  said,  unless  his  queen  should  reach  the  shore, 
Out  of  his  arm  he  would  have  made  an  oar; 
Then  from  the  boat  he  leaped,  and  could  not 

swim; 

An  angry  wave  came  quick  and  covered  him. 
Strangled  he  rose,  though  struggling  for  his  life, 
He  cried  aloud:  "O,  God,  pray,  save  my  wife!'' 
He  did  not  drown,  for  she  well  knew  the  art, 
And  leaped  and  bore  him  speechless  to  her  heart. 
Hold  of  the  cord  the  oar  she  quickly  drew; 
Yet,  brought  the  oar  she  said  he  never  knew; 
He  really  thought  he  saved  his  lover's  life. 
He  woke  and  cried  aloud:  "You  are  my  wife." 
For  when  he  sank  he  was  a  senseless  elf; 
To-day  he  thinks  he  brought  the  oar  himself. 
And  when  she  saw  how  artless  was  his  love 
The  love  within  her  heart  was  felt  to  move; 
Where  there  is  love  much  love  it  doth  inspire, 
Thus  blazed  her  love  and  set  his  soul  on  fire. 
It  seemed  by  love  her  heart  would  now  be  rent, 
Unless  some  hasty  means  could  give  it  vent; 
For  when  love's  heart  is  free  from  doubt  and  fear 
It  sayeth  much  that  love  would  feign  to  hear. 
Thus  went  the  time  until  the  glowing  west 
Was  telling  that  the  sun  had  gone  to  rest. 


FOR  YOUR  SWEET  SAKE  57 

They  reached  tne  shore,  though  he  was  soaking 

wet, 

Before  they  left,  the  wedding  day  was  set. 
Three  weeks  passed  on,  the  blessed  eve  drew  near, 
The  wedding  bells  were  chiming  loud  and  clear. 
That  night  they  vowed  to  love  and  serve  through 

life; 

There  never  lived  a  happier  man  and  wife. 
In  Mistle  still  to-day  there  can  be  seen 
A  thatch-roofed  house,  twined  round  with  ivy 

green  ; 

Upon  the  lawn  a  boy  and  girl  at  play— 
This  is  the  home  where  Ed  and  Alice  stay. 


A  BALM  FOR  WEARY  MINDS. 

What  a  balm  for  the  mind  is  the  joyous  spring, 

What  fragrant  nectar  its  breezes  bring; 

How  the  babbling  brook  and  the  birds  we  hear, 

Lull  the  heart  from  worry,  the  soul  from  fear; 

What  magnet  power  its  measures  hold 

To  keep  the  soul  from  growing  old ! 

What  joy  upon  the  turf  to  lie 

And  watch  the  fleeting  butterfly, 

To  hear  the  bee  as  it  buzzes  by; 

The  humming  bees  as  they  go  and  come, 

Sipping  honey  from  the  bloom. 

Wake,  fainting  heart,  around  thee  look, 


58  FOR  YOUR  SWEET  SAKE 

Stroll  through  the  woods,  sit  by  the  brook, 

And  hear  it  clatter,  laugh  and  sing, 

A  flood  of  hope  to  you  'twill  bring. 

Look,  see  the  orchard  a  mass  of  snow, 

Sending  sweet  fragrance  by  winds  that  blow; 

Drink  deep  of  its  joys,  on  its  fragrance  fill, 

That  thy  soul  may  stand  cold  winter's  chill. 

Look  at  the  daisies,  see  them  bend, 

Giving  their  fragrance  to  each  wind; 

The  lilies  in  their  lovely  array 

Think  of  the  words  the  sowers  say: 

Toil  not,  spin  not,  yet  how  they  grow, 

So  fragrant  and  spotless  and  whiter  than  snow. 

List  to  the  thrush  up  in  the  trees, 

The  song  of  the  cuckoo,  the  hum  of  the  bees ; 

The  tame   and  wild  flowers,   drink  deep   their 

sweet  scent, 

Surely  thy  sad  heart  will  then  be  content. 
On  springtime's  fair  bosom  rest  thy  aching  head, 
Who  cannot  feel  springtime  surely  is  dead. 


TELL  ME,  DEEP  OCEAN. 

Tell  me,  deep  ocean,  why  not  be  still, 

Why  not  this  surging  cease, 
Why  shouldst  thou  sing  this  mournful  sound, 

Oh,  why  not  hold  thy  peace? 


FOR  YOUR  SWEET  SAKE  59 

Is  it  a  tale  of  love  you  sing, 

Tell  me,  oh  mighty  deep; 
What  some  poor  sailor  bade  thee  bring, 

Just  as  he  sank  to  sleep? 

If  so,  I  yearn  to  know  thy  song, 

Pray,  make  it  known,  oh  wave; 
I  had  a  lover,  brave  and  strong, 

Who  met  a  sailor's  grave. 

I  yearn  to  know  his  parting  words, 

Were  they  not  told  to  thee? 
If  so,  I  pray  thee  make  them  known, 

Pray  tell,  were  they  of  me? 


SHOULD  I  SPY  LOVE. 

If  I  should  chance  to  spy  love  far  at  sea, 
With  outstretched  arm  beckoning  unto  me; 
Though  I  bereft  complete  of  spar  and  sail, 
'Twould  not  prevail. 


IF  LOVE  COULD  SEE. 

If  love  could  see  each  other's  heart, 
And  read  the  truth  which  they  impart; 

Much  doubt  and  fears  it  would  relieve, 
No  love  would  e'er  have  aught  to  grieve. 


6o  FOR  YOUR  SWEET  SAKE 


TEMPTATION. 

Since  I  got  'ligion 

Tryin'  to  do  what's  right 
Devil,  jus'  to  temp'  me, 

Keeps  ol'  sin  in  sight. 

Farmers  plant  th'ir  melons 
Jam  up  'gin  the  fence; 

Leave  the  hen-coops  open 
Like  they  got  no  sense. 

Man  who  own  the  orch'rd 
Done  mov'  off  to  town; 

Peaches  an'  the  apples 
Rot'nin'  on  the  groun'. 

In  a  trap  th's  mornin' 
By  the  'simmon  tree, 

Saw  a  grea'  big  'possum, 
Fat  as  he  cou'd  be. 

Wou'd  've  got  th't  'possum 
Eph — he'd  never  kno', 

Th't  his  trap  done  co't  him, 
Got  a  'ligion  tho'. 


FOR  YOUR  SWEET  SAKE  61 


People  got  no  bizness 
Fo'  to  temp'  a  man; 

'Fusin'  water-melons 
More  th'n  I  can  stan'. 

If  they's  out  th're  waitin' 
T'night  whin  I  com'  'long, 

They  shan't  teach  no  oth'r 
Christ' an  to  go  wrong. 

Sally,  bake  a  hoe  cake; 

Get  the  kittle  hot, 
Coin'  bring  back  a  chicken 

If  I  don't  git  shot. 


SOME  ONE  SOME  WHERE. 

Some  one!  Some  one!  And  yet,  I  do  not  know 
In  what  fair  spot,  or  who  this  one  may  be. 
Somewhere!  Somewhere!  I    know    on    land    or 

sea, 
There  is  a  soul  that's  all  the  world  to  me. 

Two  eyes !  Two  eyes !  The  hue  I  cannot  tell, 

A  glance  from  them,  my  soul  doth  ever  pine. 

The  joy!  The  joy!  The    heavens   will   come  to 

earth, 
The  moment  I  bekold  them  fixed  in  mine. 


62  FOR  YOUR  SWEET  SAKE 


For  you!  For  you!  For  your  sweet  sake  alone, 
I  live!  I  toil!  And  oh,  with  blistered  feet, 
I  rove!  I  rove!  I  seek  thee  in  the  dark. 
I  pray  that  God  may  grant  us  some  day  soon  to 
meet. 


WHEN  THE  LEAVES  BEGIN  TO  FALL. 

Wh'n  the  flo'ers  droop  an'  wither, 

An'  the  woods  'mence  turnin'  brown, 
An'  the  leaves  all  dried  and  curled  up, 

Comes  er  droppin'  to  the  groun', 
Seems  er  kin'er  saddenin'  feelin' 

Comes  a  stealin'  over  all, 
Wh'n  the  air  begins  a  bitin', 

An'  the  leaves  begin  to  fall. 

There's  no  use  o'  th's  here  sadness, 

Crops  been  good,  can't  wish  fo'  mo', 
Smoke  hous'  will  be  full  o'  bacon, 

Barn  an'  crib  fill'd  to  de  do', 
Yet,  a  kin'er  saddenin'  feelin', 

Comes  er  stealin'  over  all, 
Wh'n  the  air  begins  a  bitin', 

An'  the  leaves  begin  to  fall- 


FOR  YOUR  SWEET  SAKE  63 


Maybe  th's  saddenin'  feelin', 

The  good  Lord  sen's  on  to  say 
That  we  mortals  best  get  ready, 

For  the  grea'  big  Harvest  Day. 
Seems  er  kin'er  saddenin'  feelin', 

Comes  er  stealin'  over  all, 
Wh'n  the  air  begins  a  bitin', 

An'  the  leaves  begin  to  fall. 


KEEP  ER  INCHIN'. 

Dere's  no  use  er  rippin',  honey, 

An'  er  tearin'  like  a  dunce 
O'er  de  hills  an'  up  de  mountains, 

Try'n  to  reach  de  top  at  once! 
'Member  yo'  was  made  fo'  walkin', 

Fo'  yo'  got  no  wings  to  fly; 
Keep  er  inchin'  an'  er  inchin', 

Yo'll  git  dere  by  an  'by. 

Co'se  de  top  looks  purty,  yondah, 

Furdemo',  confess  I  mus' 
Dat  it's  all  up  dere  er  waitin' 

Fo'  de  one  dat  gits  dere  fus, 
But  es  sho's  yo'  starts  a  dashin' 

Yo'  will  fall,  an'  fall  to  lie! 
Keep  er  inchin'  an'  er  inchin', 

Yo'll  git  dere  by  an'  by. 


64  FOR  YOUR  SWEET  SAKE 


Dis  big  woiT — de  good  Lord  made  it, 

Tuk  His  own  time  an'  His  way; 
An'  de  Good  Book  I  read  tells  me 

He  di'nt  make  it  in  er  day. 
Yo'    cain't    nevah   beat    de   Mastah, 

An'  it  ain't  wo'th  while  to  try; 
Keep  er  inchin'   an'  er  inchin', 

Yo'll  git  dere  by  an'  by. 


DEEP  IN  LOVE. 

Lips  jus'  like  a  rose  bud, 
Teeth  that  fairly  shine, 

Eyes  ez  black  an'  glossy 
Ez  er  muscadine. 

Jus'  a  little  angel, 

Right  down  from  above; 
I'm  mos'  ravin'  crazy, 

Gone  so  deep  in  love. 

Since  the  night  I  met  you, 
Jus'  ain't  had  no  res', 

Heart  it  goes  er  jumpin', 
All  day,  gin  my  breast. 

Honey,  won't  you  be  mine? 

Lis'en ,  child,  yo'  mus' ! 
Jus*  ez  sho's  you  'fuse  me, 

M'  heart  will  swell  an'  bus*. 


FOR  YOUR  SWEET  SAKE  65 


A  MAGIC  CHANGE. 

When  I  was  young  I  had  a  mind  to  rise, 
To  know  the  earth  and  seek  the  vaulted  skies; 
And  with  a  gnawing  thirst  to  slake   I   sought 
To  master  well  what  brush  and  pen  had  wrought. 

But  to  my  home  there  came  a  mound  of  clay; 
Twas  fashioned  well  by  Nature's  cunning  art; 
Though  it  was  small,  at  once  it  gained  the  sway, 
Became  the  one  great  treasure  of  my  heart. 

A  magic  change  came  o'er  me  at  the  birth 
Of  that  sweet  gift  which  Nature  to  me  brought. 
Content  I  felt  to  dwell  in  peace  on  earth, 
To  see  it  rise,  I  had  no  other  thought. 

I  yearn  to  see  it  as  a  beacon  light, 
That  blinded  men  might  see  and  know  the  good ; 
I  yearn  to  see  it  in  its  wisdom's  flight  <* 

Surpass  the  realms  where  that  great  Plato  stood. 


LOOKIN'  ON. 

It's  easy  'nough  to  set  er  gazin' 
At  me  out  heah  in  the  fight, 
Sayin'  "jus*  do  this  or  t'other, 

Everything  will  com'  out  right." 
5 


66  FOR  YOUR  SWEET  SAKE 

But  yo'  com'  get  in  the  battl', 
Other  words, — jus'  tak'  my  place, 

Let  the  shot  an'  shell  com'  whizzin' 
By,  so  close,  they'll  scorch  your  face 

Th'n  you'll  fin'  er  great  big  diff  nee, 

Tween  the  facin'  o'  er  gun, 
An'  er  settin'  off  er  lookin' 

An'  er  sayin',  what  you'd  done. 


KINDRED  VOICES. 

O  Wind !  thou  hast  a  human  voice, 
And  so  hast  thou,  O  Sea ! 

0  Rock!  O  Tree!  O  Shrub!  O  Flower! 
I'm  one  in  heart  with  thee. 

Sometime,  I  feel  thou  art  my  kin, 
Thy  blood  within  me  flows, 

1  hear  thy  call  in  every  sigh,— 

In  every  wind  that  blows. 

Deep  in  the  woods,  I  often  sit, 
'Way  from  the  mighty  throng, 

My  heart  o'erflows  with  ecstasy, 
So  wondrous  is  thy  song. 

What  art  thou  like,  thou  windy  form, 
That  breathes  upon  my  cheek? 

O  Rock!  O  Tree!  O  Shrub!  O  Flower! 
Teach  me  thy  lore  to  speak. 


FOR  YOUR  SWEET  SAKE  67 


DESERTED. 

Sittin*  here  er  hummin',  tryin'  not  to  care, 
As  tho'  it  mak's  no  dif  rence,  Sally  isn't  here. 

She  done  gone  an'  lef  me  an'  took  little  Moses  too. 
Lord,  have  mercy  on  me!    What  am  I  to  do? 

Said  she  couldn't  stan'  me;  thought  I  couldn't  her. 
'Lowed  she's  goin'  to  leave  me;  said  I  didn't  car'. 

Th'  night  do  seem  so  lonely;  home  don't  'pear  th' 

same. 
Th'  more  I  think  erbout  it,  see  I  was  t'  blame. 

If  she'd  jus'  com'  back  to  me,  she  could  have  her 

way. 
Maybe  the  Lord  would  fetch  her  if  I  would  kneel 

an'  pray. 

Who's  that  there  snec'rin'  underneath  the  bed? 
Com*  from  there,  little  Moses,  boy;    bob  your 
woolly  head. 

Say,   chil,'  wher's  your  mother?      She's  in  th' 

closet,  dad. 
Sal,  com'  fix  my  supper  'fore  yo'  make  me  mad. 


68  FOR  YOUR  SWEET  SAKE 

LITTLE   BABY   SUGAR  SWEET. 

Written  on  and  dedicated  to  George  Wyatt,  Jr.^son  of  Dr. 
G.  W.  Wyatt,  Cincinnati,  Ohio. 

Com'  here,  baby,  sugar  sweet,  befo'  th'  bees  get 

yo'  to  eat. 
My,  your  head  is  full  o'  san/    Yo's  so  heavy, 

papa's  man. 

Wife,  I's  to!'  you  till  I'm  tired,  to  keep  this  baby 

out  th'  yeard. 
Th'  bees  '11  tak'  him  to  their  gum  an'  mak'  him  up 

in  honey  com.' 

Er  laughin'?     Ah,  yo'  jus'  too  smart.     Com'  an' 

hug  up  to  my  heart. 
They  say  that  babes  as  wise  as  yo'  can  only  liv'  a 

year  or  two. 

Well,  I'll  be  happy  while  yo's  here;  to  him  an  age 

is  but  er  year. 
Seems  I  hear  er  buzzin'  soun.'    My,  th'  bees  are  all 

er  roun.' 

Liza,  com'  an'  close  the  doo.'     Ain't  they  seen 

nothin'  sweet  befo'? 
They  try  to  br'ak  right  throu'  th'  screen;  never 

saw  th'  bees  so  mean. 

Oh,  go  'way,  bee;  I  hear  yo'  hum.    Yo'  can't  take 

baby  to  your  gum. 
Go  'way  from  here.     Hear  what  I  said?     Bless 

if  I  don't  kill  yo'  dead. 


FOR  YOUR  SWEET  SAKE  69 


APPRECIATIONS 


I  find  in  Mr.  McGirt's  verses  a  meaning  and 
accent  which  belong  only  to  the  true  poet. 

(Mrs.)  REBECCA  HARDING  DAVIS. 


Mr.  McGirt's  poetry  is  spontaneous,  natural 
and  true. 

(Mrs.)  MARGARET  E.  SANGSTER. 


My  dear  Mr.  McGirt:  Your  verses  indicate 
talent.  I  see  no  reason  why  you  should  not  have 
a  great  deal  of  success. 

(Mrs.)  ELLA  WHEELER  WILCOX. 


Mr.  James  E.  McGirt: 

Dear  Sir: — You  show  in  these  verses  a  talent 

for  putting  thoughts  into  literary  form     

very  rare.  I  have  found  the  sentiment  of  the 
poems  always  pure  and  orthodox — often  sweet 
and  touching;  there  is  a  simplicity  about  them 

which  wins  the  reader's  attention 

1  remain  sincerely  yours, 

JULIAN  HAWTHORNE. 


7°  FOR  YOUR  SWEET  SAKE 


You  show  a  great  deal  of  talent  in  your  poems. 
I  find  them  very  interesting  and  sweet. 

THOMAS  NELSON  PAGE. 


Mr.  James  E.  McGirt,  Philadelphia. 

My  dear  Sir: — I  have  given  some  spare  hours 
to  the  reading  of  your  poems,  which  you  were 
kind  enough  to  furnish  me  in  volume  and  manu- 
script. It  is  always  gratifying  to  me  to  find  one 
of  your  race  aim  to  advance  or  excel  in  literary 
efforts.  I  was  specially  pleased  with  the  merits 
of  your  poems,  which  should  certainly  command 
a  large  circle  of  readers,  not  only  among  your 
own  people,  but  among  all  lovers  of  genuine 
poetic  effort. 

Yours  truly, 

(Col.)  A.  K.  McCLURE. 


TUSKEGEE  INSTITUTE,  ALABAMA. 

Mr.  James  E.  McGirt. 

My  dear  Sir:  I  cannot  pretend  to  be  a  lit- 
erary critic,  but  I  did  like  your  verses.  I  liked, 
particularly,  the  verses  entitled  "  When  the  Sun 
Shines  Hot." 

I  wish  your  volume  success. 
Very  truly  yours, 

BOOKER  T.  WASHINGTON, 

Principal. 


FOR  YOUR  SWEET  SAKE  71 


Mr.  J.  E.  McGirt,  Philadelphia,  Pa. 

My  dear  Sir: — Your  verses  have  the  true  poetic 
ring,  while  the  tender  and  noble  sentiments  they 
voice  and  the  note  of  inspiration  which  pervades 
them  will  have  a  strong  appeal  not  only  to  the 
youth  of  your  own  race  but  for  the  youth  of  all 
races. 

Sincerely  yours, 
O.  S.  MARDEN, 
Editor  Success  Magazine. 


Dear  Mr.  McGirt: — I  am  reading  the  poems 
with  pleasure  and  profit,  and  they  surely  show 
an  insight  into  the  heart  of  things  that  is  very 
excellent.  So  here  is  a  hand-grasp  over  the 
miles,  and  I  am  ever  your  sincere 

ELBERT  HUBBARD. 


72  FOR  YOUR  SWEET  SAKE 


A  NEW  NEGRO  POET 

Volume  of  Melodious  Verse  from  a  Young  Philadelphia 
Magazine  Editor  and  Write* 


There  is  issued  to-day  from  the  press  of  The 
John  C.  Winston  Company  a  volume  of  verse 
which  will  make  a  double  appeal,  one  for  the 
merit  of  the  poems  themselves  and  one  because 
of  their  origin  and  authorship.  "For  Your 
Sweet  Sake"  and  the  other  verses  which  make 
up  the  volume  are  the  work  of  James  Ephraim 
McGirt,  a  young  Negro  of  this  city,  whose  work 
justifies  the  high  estimate  placed  upon  it  by 
many  of  those  who  have  read  it.  It  is  per- 
haps not  too  much  to  say  that  no  verse  of 
equal  quality  has  been  written  by  any  member 
of  the  race  since  Paul  Laurence  Dunbar  attracted 
the  attention  of  the  literary  world.  Mr.  McGirt 
writes  both  in  English  and  in  dialect,  and  while 
he  is  good  in  both,  there  is  a  simplicity  and 
tenderness  in  the  latter  form  that  is  peculiarly 
charming.  "When  the  Sun  Shines  Hot"  is 
characteristic  of  his  style  and  sentiment: 


FOR  YOUR  SWEET  SAKE  73 


No,  dere  ain't  no  use  er  workin'  in  de  blazin' 

summertime, 
Whin  de  fruit  hab  filled  de  orchard  an'  de  hurries 

bend  de  vine; 
Dere's  enuf  ter  keep  us  libin'  in  de  little  gyarden 

spot, 
An'  der  ain't  no  use'n  workin'  w'en  de  sun  shines 

hot. 

Fur  I'ze  read  it  in  de  Bible  'bout  de  lilies  how 

dey  grow; 
It  was  put  in  der  er  purpus  dat  de  workin'  men 

mout  know 
Dat  dis  diggin'  an'  er  grabben  wusn't  me'nt  in  our 

lot, 
An'  der  ain't  no  use'n  workin'  w'en  de  sun  shines 

hot. 

Does  yer  heer  de  stream  er  callin'  az  it  cralls 

erlong  de  rill? 
Does  yer  se  de  vines  er  wavin',  biddin'  me  ter 

kum  an'  fill? 
Whar's  m'   hook  and  line — say,   Hannah,  give 

me  all  de  bait  yer  got, 
Fur  der  ain't  no  use'n  workin'  w'en  de  sun  shines 

hot. 

Jus'  'bout  dark  I  com'  horn'  strolin'  with  a  bunch 

o'  lov'ly  trout 
Hannah  she  c'mmence  er  grinnin',  little  Rastus 

'gin  to  shout; 
Soon  de  hoecake  is  er  bakin',  fish  er  fryin',  table 

sot. 
No,  der  ain't  no  use'n  workin'  w'en  de  sun  shines 

hot. 


74  FOR  YOUR  SWEET  SAKE 


A  different  note,  and  one  that  voices  the  pathos 
and  tragedy  of  the  Negro  problem,  is  struck  in 
these  lines  to  which  Mr.  McGirt  has  given  the 
title  "Experience": 

They  told  me  that  the  path  I  took  was  hard, 

That  many  a  time  my  weary  feet  would  bleed; 
They  said  at  last  I'd  find  my  way  was  barred; 
I  would  not  heed. 

They  bade  me  stop  and  go  the  other  way; 
This  path,  they  said,  Fate  thorns  and  thistles 

strew; 

But  I  was  young,  Ambition  led  the  way; 
1  thought  I  knew. 

But  when  my  bleeding  feet  came  to  the  end, 

And  I  was  bound  and  scourged  by  cruel  Fate; 
Alas,  I  cried,  pray  let  me  start  again; 
It  was  too  late. 


Still  another  aspect  of  the  work,  that  which  has 
to  do  with  the  sentimental  element  in  the  Negro 
nature,  is  represented  in  these  lines,  called 
"  Mystery": 

I  do  not  know  the  ocean's  song, 

Or  what  the  brooklets  say 
At  eve  I  sit  and  listen  long, 

1    cannot    learn    their    lay, 
But  as  I  linger  by  the  sea, 
And  that  sweet  song  comes  unto  me, 
It  seems,  my  love,  it  sings  of  thee. 


FOR  YOUR  SWEET  SAKE  75 


I  do  not  know  why  poppies  grow 

Amid  the  wheat  and  rye; 
The  lilies  bloom  as  white  as  snow, 

I  cannot  tell  you  why. 
But  all  the  flowers  of  the  spring, 
The  bees  that  hum,  the  birds  that  sing, 
A  thought  of  you  they  seem  to  bring. 

I  cannot  tell  why  silvery  Mars 

Moves  through  the  heav'ns  at  night; 
1  cannot  tell  you  why  the  stars 

Adorn  the  vault  with  light. 
But  what  sublimity  I  see 
Upon  the  mount,  the  hill,  the  lea, 
It  brings,  my  love,  a  thought  of  thee. 

I  do  not  know  what  in  your  eyes 
That  caused  my  heart  to  glow, 
And  why  my  spirit  longs  and  cries, 

I  vow  I  do  not  know. 
But  when  you  first  came  in  my  sight 
My  slumbering  soul  awoke  in  light, 
And  since  the  day  I've  known  no  night. 

Such  work  as  this  naturally  inspires  a  wish  to 
know  something  of  the  personality  of  the  author. 
Young  McGirt,  for  he  is  but  twenty-nine  years 
old,  comes  from  North  Carolina,  and  he  takes 
his  name  from  the  family  to  whom  his  parents 
belonged  in  slavery  days.  While  he  was  still 
a  boy  his  father  and  mother  removed  from 
Robinson  county  to  Greensboro,  and  there  they 
remained,  the  lad  attending  Bennett  College. 
After  graduating  he  taught  school  in  Greensboro 


76  FOR  YOUR  SWEET  SAKE 


for  a  year,  and  six  years  ago  came  to  Philadel- 
phia, where  he  has  since  been  engaged  in  lectur- 
ing occasionally  to  churches  and  lyceums  and  in 
editing  McGirt's  Magazine,  a  periodical  which 
has  a  large  circulation  among  members  of  the 
Negro  race  here  and  throughout  the  country. 

McGirt  says  modestly  that  he  has  been  writing 
verse,  of  one  sort  or  another,  ever  since  he  was 
twelve  years  old.  The  faculty  was  inherited 
from  his  parents,  who  in  their  slave  days  were 
fond  of  inventing  doggerel  and  messages  in  verse  to 
one  another,  messages  which  were  written  out  for 
them  by  masters  and  mistresses.  When  James 
Ephraim  tried  his  hand  at  the  same  amusement 
he  was  encouraged  in  it  by  father  and  mother, 
and  he  has  perserved  until  he  is  in  a  fair  way  to 
obtain  the  recognition  which  he  really  deserves. 
— Philadelphia  Ledger. 


"For  Your  Sweet  Sake,"  the  verses  never  fail 
in  melody  which  is  a  characteristic  of  the  race. 
Some  of  it  is  in  dialect,  but  sometimes  it  becomes 
true  poetry. — N.  Y.  Sun. 


Jas.  E.  McGirt,  a  young  Negro  of  Philadelphia 
— he  is  only  29 — promises  to  fill  the  niche  left 
vacant  by  the  recent  death  of  Paul  Laurence 
Dunbar.  Like  Dunbar,  young  McGirt  attempts 
many  forms  and  many  meters,  but  is  at  his  best 
in  Negro  dialect. — N.  Y.  Herald. 


FOR  YOUR  SWEET  SAKE  77 


"For  Your  Sweet  Sake" — they  have  music  and 
humor  in  them. — Evening  Mail,  N.  Y.  City. 


''For  Your  Sweet  Sake,"  by  Jas.  E.  McGirt, 
verses  in  celebration  of  the  Negro  daily  life,  and  a 
few  poems  not  in  dialect  in  praise  of  various 
aspects  of  Nature. — Boston  Transcript. 


"For  Your  Sweet  Sake"  is  a  volume  of  poems 
by  James  E.  McGirt,  a  young  Africo-American 
singer  of  prominence.  In  these  latter  verses  the 
poet  has  compressed  much  of  the  quaint  phil- 
osophy and  expression  of  the  life  of  the  colored 
people  in  the  South. — Boston  Globe,  Boston,  Mass. 


In  James  E.  McGirt  Philadelphia  has  a  Negro 
poet.  He  represents  a  distinct  and  laudable 
tendency. — Philadelphia  Telegraph. 


A  NEGRO   POET   WHO  ARRIVES. 

James  E.  McGirt,  who  publishes  a  magazine 
in  this  city  and  who  stands  high  in  the  intellectual 
circles  of  the  colored  race,  has  just  published, 
through  The  John  C.  Winston  Company,  a  hand- 
some little  book  of  verse  entitled  "For  Your 
Sweet  Sake."  Mr.  McGirt  is  a  young  man  of 
liberal  education  and  poetic  conception  who  has 


78  FOR  YOUR  SWEET  SAKE 


labored  long  in  many  fields  of  literature,  but  who 
finds  his  best  metier  in  an  outburst  of  song. 
We  do  not  hesitate  to  say  that  he  is  the  legitimate 
successor  of  Paul  Laurence  Dunbar.  His  poetry 
depends  on  no  racial  condition,  but  it  is  evident 
that  he  has  a  poetic  sentiment  which  is  partially 
temperamental  and  inherited,  while  his  literary 
comprehension  is  unbounded  by  any  such  con- 
sideration. This  is  an  unusually  well  digested 
book  of  poetry  and  is  full  of  that  uplift  which  only 
the  true  poet  has. — Philadelphia  Inquirer. 


A  young  Philadelphia  colored  man  writes 
exquisite  verse.  "For  Your  Sweet  Sake,"  by 
James  E.  McGirt.  Pathos,  humor  and  affecting 
sentiment  will  be  found  in  these  poems.  These 
poems,  forty-five  in  number,  cover  a  wide  variety 
of  topics — and  many  are  couched  in  the  dialect 
of  the  Negro — showing  the  quaint  moods  of 
thought  and  unique  methods  of  expression  of 
that  race.  Some  of  the  poems  speak  glowingly 
of  the  forest  as  in  "The  Spirit  of  the  Oak,"  while 
others  tell  of  love  in  serious  mood  and  of  court- 
ship in  lighter  vein,  of  which  "If  Loving  Were 
Wooing,"  and  "Anna,  Won't  You  Marry  Me?" 
are  fine  examples.  There  are  inspiring  songs  of 
patriotic  trend  also,  as  in  "The  Siege  of  Manila" 
and  "God  Bless  Our  Country."  These  poems 
contain  much  of  a  meritorious  character  in  point 


FOR  YOUR  SWEET  SAKE  79 


of  rhythm  and  motive,  and  give  promise  of  much 
greater  achievements  in  the  realm  of  poesy  by 
the  author. — Philadelphia  Record. 


"For  Your  Sweet  Sake,"  James  E.  McGirt: 
In  this  slim  volume  of  poems  we  find  some 
beautiful  thoughts  and  a  keen  appreciation  of  all 
the  varied  phases  of  nature.  James  McGirt  has 
the  true  verse-making  faculty,  adding  a  nice 
choice  of  words  to  a  keen  sense  of  rhythm. — 
Item,  Philadelphia,  Pa. 


Native  talent  shown  in  the  verses  of  James  E. 
McGirt. 

This  new  aspirant  for  poetic  laurels  is  one  of 
the  best  examples  of  the  truth  that  "poets  are 
born,  not  made."  He  possesses  true  poetic 
insight  and  a  rugged  grasp  on  the  beauties  of 
nature.  His  poems  are  not  all  in  dialect,  but 
all  carry  with  them  that  deep  intuition  which 
bespeaks  the  born  singer. — Washington  Post, 
Washington,  D.  C. 


